Worse Than Death Part 2
by Tyranusfan
Summary: Sequel to my S3 finale tag Worse Than Death. Picks up where the original tag left off. Dean is back from Hell and has plans for Sam. Rated T for language. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

May 3, 2008

_So many asked for a follow-up that I couldn't say no. This is sequel to "Worse than Death," my tag for the S3 finale, "No Rest for the Wicked." Picks up where the first story left off. _

_I tried to stay as spoiler free this summer as possible, so I have no doubt this will be nothing like anything in Season 4. _

_Thanks to geminigrl11 for the beta. Reviews craved. I own nothing._

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**The Devil to Pay**

_Before he could say anything, his attacker stepped out of the shadows by the window, dressed in a long black overcoat and carrying a wicked looking blade in his right hand. The eyes were what transfixed Sam though…black as tar, pinning him as effectively as the chair. _

"_Howdy, little brother."_

_January 24, 2009_

_11:46 PM_

Sam could do nothing but stare. A demon had gotten the drop on him in his motel room, and worse, it was wearing his brother's face. He couldn't quite wrap his exhausted brain around it. It was Dean. But it couldn't be. Dean was-- Dean was no demon. Ruby said it took centuries. Therefore, logically, this wasn't Dean. It was some demon--some goddamned filthy demon--who was masquerading as Dean.

"No," Sam breathed, shaking his head. "No."

The demon strolled forward, casually picking up the fallen Colt and stuffing it into a side pocket of the coat. "That all you have to say to me? It's been eight months, dude."

Sam shook his head again, willing the words to be lies. Dean being a demon was unacceptable. "No. You're not my brother. My brother is dead because of you bastards."

Stopping just shy of Sam, the demon turned and glanced appraisingly into the room's mirror. "Hmm. Looks like me. Maybe that head injury you're sporting blurred you vision, bro. You should get that checked."

"Fuck you," Sam growled, straining his muscles as he pushed against the chair again. This time it started to move. The demon raised its hand, and the chair slammed back, pinning Sam's arms this time.

"Now, now, Sammy. Can't have that. Though, I must admit, that was an impressive display. Lilith and her friends are right to be afraid of you."

Sam stopped struggling with the chair, unable to move his arms at all now. He glanced down, noting that the salt line by the door was broken. Which shouldn't have been possible. Even the most powerful demons he had encountered were stopped by salt. He looked back at his captor. "How…?"

The demon followed Sam's gaze to the floor. "Oh, that? Nothing magical about it, just terrify the little punk at the front desk, get him to open your door with a spare key while you're out and break the line for me. One, two, three."

His captor stepped closer, gently sliding the tip of the menacing dagger in its hand across Sam's jawline. "But let's not get tied up in the details. We have a lot of catching up to do, don't we?"

Turning his head away, Sam frowned. "Not likely, demon."

The blade fell away, replaced with the sneering visage of his brother. "You wound me, bro. I came all this way to see you, and you reject me because your _ego_ refuses to let you believe I'm really Dean. That hurts."

"Not as much as it's going to hurt when I get free. You come in here, daring to make yourself look like my brother?" Sam stridently ignored the fact that there weren't that many shape-shifting demons, so his assumption was pretty weak on fact. Didn't matter though; nothing mattered except his anger toward the thing in front of him. "I'm going to make you pay for that. _All of you_."

The demon cocked an eyebrow in what looked like amusement. "Big words, kid. Especially for someone with a price on his head and a knife at his throat."

Sam blinked at that. _A price on my head?_ Lilith must have upped the ante. That's as far as his thoughts went before a voice interrupted them from across the room.

"The price isn't nearly high enough."

Sam and his captor followed the sound, glancing over simultaneously. Ruby stood by the windows, her demon-killing knife held out in front of her.

The demon snorted and looked back at Sam. "Still haven't ditched this lying whore, Sammy? You just stupid, or did she get in your pants?"

Ruby stepped closer before Sam could answer, holding the knife out threateningly. "Get away from him, Dean."

Sam frowned at her. Surely she could see this wasn't his brother. He was about to say as much to her when the demon turned back to her.

"Don't think so, sweetheart. My brother and I have business that doesn't include treacherous skanks."

Ruby flipped her knife over and hurled it at the demon, and for a moment, Sam thought the blade might slice right into its throat. Part of him hoped it didn't. He'd seen enough of Dean's blood to last him two lifetimes, whether this was his brother or not. The knife never made it that far, though. "Dean" flicked his hand, and the weapon spun in midair and shot back, catching Ruby in the leg. She cried out and went down, energy crackling along her midsection.

Then, without warning, "Dean's" hand shot out, grasping Sam's neck. The grip was so strong that he couldn't even draw a breath. He heard Ruby shouting something as the room went black.

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_January 25, 2009_

_12:35 AM_

Bobby cursed under his breath when the call went to Sam's voicemail. Again. He'd called Sam four times since midnight to no avail.

_He's done something stupid, I know it_.

Sam was a good hunter--scratch that, in the year since Dean's death, Sam had become a _great_ hunter--but he was impulsive, his lingering grief over his brother's death making him reckless. If not for the young man's ever-increasing psychic abilities, he probably would have gotten himself killed already.

Bobby wasn't convinced that that wasn't exactly what Sam wanted.

The Winchester boys had been close, unusually so. Losing your parents and assorted other loved ones to demons did that, changed your outlook on life, Bobby knew from experience. But it also meant that when Dean died, he took a big chunk of Sam with him, and the boy had never truly recovered from that.

Sam was short-tempered and aloof these days. He rarely spoke outside of the planning of a hunt, and when he did speak, it was usually in abrupt sentences, using as few words as possible. Orders, often. Like a drill instructor or platoon sergeant. He reminded Bobby a lot of John.

On nights like this, Sam's growing similarity to his late father irritated Bobby to no end. They'd located Lilith again, and despite Sam's--admittedly vague--promise to wait for backup, with each passing minute, Bobby suspected that Sam had charged in alone. If not for the young hunter's amazing abilities and physical strength, Bobby would have called it suicidal. But Sam had shocked him too many times.

Taking on Lilith alone was perilous--if not insane--but if anyone could do it….

Bobby growled to himself. Just because Sam _could_ do it didn't make it smart. Something about the circumstances this time made Bobby suspect a trap. Unfortunately, Sam was equally capable of completely ignoring any such danger.

His anxiety ratcheted up a notch as he pulled into the motel lot where Sam was supposed to be staying. The Impala was parked, which meant Sam should be there and answering his phone. The fact that he wasn't--

Bobby parked his Chevelle and got out, casting a wary glance at Ellen, who pulled in beside him and dropped down from her truck.

"Still nothing?" she asked, surveying the parking lot.

"Not a word. I don't like it," Bobby replied gruffly, marching up to the door of room 97 and knocking loudly. "Sam?"

When no answer came, he tried the doorknob, grimacing when he found it unlocked.

Ellen drew a gun as they entered the room. Not much looked to be in disarray, though the salt line was broken and a chair was lying by the entrance. The thin sulfur residue on the floor was far more alarming.

"Demons?" Ellen asked, scanning the room.

Bobby shook his head. "I dunno. How would they get past the salt?"

A soft groan drew their attention, and they cautiously made their way to the far bed. Sam was still getting rooms with two-beds, Bobby noted. _When will he stop torturing himself?_

They found Ruby on the floor beyond the second bed. Her own knife was sticking out of her leg. Sharing a look with Ellen, Bobby kneeled and carefully extracted it. Ruby moaned, her eyes fluttering open. "Damn…."

Bobby bit his lip. Ruby had proven to be a valuable ally, if a wild card. Sam found her useful, but she definitely had her own agenda, and she wasn't trustworthy. Nor particularly well-liked. Bobby suspected from the way Sam treated Ruby that he blamed her for Dean's death in some way. The boy refused to talk about it, though, for whatever reason.

"You all right?" he asked, extending a hand to help the girl up.

"I'll live," Ruby hissed, grudgingly accepting the hand and moving to sit on the bed.

"Where's Sam?" Ellen asked, lowering her gun.

Ruby looked at them, clearly debating something, then shrugged. "Let's just say things have taken a turn for the worse."

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_January 25, 2009_

_Time Unknown_

Sam drifted slowly toward consciousness, senses overloaded by a rush of sound, light, and sensation. Pain filtered through first: from his knees, from his wrists, and from the throbbing in his head. Sound was next, the rustle of feet on a floor and hushed murmurs surrounding him. His forehead itched.

He opened his eyes, but was assaulted by the glare of an overhead floodlight. Wincing, he tried again, slower this time. When his eyes finally adjusted, he became clearer on the source of the pain. He was kneeling on a concrete floor, his wrists shackled out in front and above shoulder level. The position strained his back, and was killing his legs, but when he tried to move, he found that his ankles were chained as well, locking his feet under him.

The shackles on his wrists were so tight that he could barely move his hands, and any attempt to do so caused small spikes on the inside of the cuffs to slice into his skin. Sam obviously wasn't supposed to be moving around. He shifted his weight experimentally, trying and failing to ease the growing ache in his back muscles.

It was chilly in the room--which looked like part of a warehouse--without his coat, but not unbearably so. He didn't bother to look for whoever was stirring around him. He already knew who had captured him, and wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing his face.

_Damn_… Something was making his forehead itch, but he couldn't scratch it. The part of his sleeve he could reach wasn't helping…the feeling was starting to get maddening.

_Screw this, time to go_.

Sam concentrated on the shackles, willing them to unlock. Nothing happened. Frowning, Sam tried again. His telekinesis usually worked immediately--

Something was very wrong.

"Having trouble?"

_Dean_. No, it was the demon that was pretending to be Dean, insulting Sam and his brother's memory. Sam cursed himself. He shouldn't let these bastards get under his skin with their games. That's what they wanted.

He finally looked up as the demon came into view from behind him. It was still appearing as Dean. Sam glared as it smugly made eye contact, noting dispassionately that the eyes were hazel, not black like in the room. It even looked like Dean's smirk.

Forgetting the chains for a moment, he focused on his demonic captor, and willed it to free him.

Nothing.

The demon noticed his scowl. "You're probably wondering why your usual bag of psychic tricks isn't working."

Sam just glared.

His captor reached over, picking up something from the shadows outside the bright cone of the floodlight surrounding them. It appeared to be a mirror. Sam saw his reflection in it.

There was something all across his forehead, under his bangs. It looked like blood, but sigils had been painted in reddish smears.

"Black magic. _Old_ black magic," the demon explained casually. "It blocks psychic abilities. Pretty much locks you inside your own head."

Sam frowned, trying to examine the symbols more closely, but the mirror was abruptly tossed away.

"Scratch all you want, nothing short of slicing your skin open will break the spells. Unfortunately, you're still immune to anything a demon can do to you--short of being shot or stabbed--but at least this way you can't hurt _them_ either."

Sam just glowered at the demon.

"Nothing to say, Sammy? Not even a 'it's nice to see you again big brother?'"

"You're _not_ my brother," Sam hissed, eyes dropping to the floor again. He was tired, like he'd run a marathon. His ribs were starting to ache again from his earlier battle outside the warehouse.

_Speaking of which, that's probably where I _am….

"We've been through this, Sam. I sure as hell look like Dean."

"I don't care who you look like."

The demon chuckled. "Strong and silent. Nothing past name, rank and serial number. Smart mouth the enemy, put them on the defensive. You learned all the right lessons, Sam. I'm proud. Dad would be, too."

Sam ignored him, listening to his captor's footsteps as it circled him like a stalking predator. He only raised his eyes when the demon dropped to one knee directly in front of him, though he proudly didn't flinch at the sudden motion. People flinched in fear when they had something to lose. These sons of bitches had already taken everything Sam had, so what did he have to fear?

"I think you do care, Sammy. This…mask you wear just hides the scared kid underneath. I can see through you. Look into my eyes and tell me I'm not you're brother, I dare you."

Sam sneered, and leaned forward, making direct eye contact for the first time. "_You aren't Dean_. You're lying. All you _things_ do is lie. Lie and kill."

He didn't focus much on the eyes though, settling for the forehead. It was too painful to see his brother this close, knowing that it was all false.

The demon smirked again, then broke into a grin. "Same old Sammy. Stubborn as ever."

"It takes centuries for someone to become a demon. It's only been eight months," Sam stated matter-of-factly, not blinking. The irony didn't escape Sam; to him, the last eight months _had_ felt like years, decades, centuries….

The demon mockingly motioned for Sam to come closer, knowing that Sam had stretched as far as he could in that position. "It's been eight months _up here_, bro. Did you ever stop to consider that time might not mean the same thing in The Pit?"

Sam blinked at that. He actually had never thought about it. For the first time, doubt formed in his mind. He focused on his captors eyes, looking carefully at them this time.

_No. No_… It was a trick, an illusion. This was a demon projecting his brother's image and voice; that was all.

"I'm bored!" a voice called out from over Sam's left shoulder. A child's voice.

Sam turned his head, finding a small girl, no more than twelve, walking out of the shadows toward them. Lilith. It must have been.

The little girl stopped in front of Sam's chained hands, making a face like he'd stolen her ice cream cone.

"You're _mean_. I don't like you. You kill my demons."

Sam couldn't hold his anger in, not when she was this close. He lunged forward, trying to twist his hands so he could get them around her throat. Blood seeped from his wrists but he didn't care.

"_You murdered my brother, you bitch!_"

Lilith flinched and stepped back, obviously not expecting his outburst. Two of her minions stepped up behind her, and the one that looked like Dean tensed. Lilith's surprised expression turned sour.

"You're being bad, Sam. I'm going to make you pay for that. I'm gonna make you suffer for what you've done to us."

Sam smirked at her, pleased that his bloody swath through the demons' army was appreciated. "Come closer, and you can try it yourself."

He tried to use his abilities again, focusing on ripping the demon from the girl's body, but like before, nothing happened.

Lilith shook her head, looking childlike and young. It was weird confronting a child like this, but he knew that's what Lilith counted on to distract her enemies.

"No. Dean's going to make you _sorry_. You'll see."

She turned and walked out, her entourage following her. The sounds of chatter around them in the darkness thinned out, as well. Moments later, Sam was alone with the demon that was masquerading as his brother.

The demon that looked like his brother stepped closer, drawing the menacing blade he'd had when Sam had found him in the motel room. In the light, Sam could see the ornate inscriptions running along the blade, but couldn't translate them.

"That was pretty stupid, Sammy. She might have made it quick if you hadn't yelled at her. What were you thinking?"

Sam pulled futilely against his restraints again, drawing more blood. He dropped his head against his forearm. A small tear of frustration and anger flowed from his eye. He was so close! He could kill that capricious bitch so easily! _If I could just get out of these damned shackles!_

Unfortunately, with his wrists bound so tightly and his psychic mojo off-line, he wasn't going to get very far. He opened his eyes and looked up.

"Fuck you," Sam sighed, letting his eyes drift shut again. Might as well conserve energy. "That's what I'm thinking."

He was caught off-guard when the fist smashed into his mouth. Sam grunted, his eyes snapping open as the shock of impact whipped his head back. _That was_--

Sam's mind shot back to the motel room, when the demon's hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed. He hadn't been paying attention then.

"You're…you're _corporeal_…."

The demon smirked at him. "Expecting me to be part of the Black Smoke Brigade?"

Sam had. He'd written the appearance off as a mask, a projection. His captor seemed to read it in his face.

"I told you, Sam. It's me. I'm the real deal," it said, swinging the blade playfully and walking around Sam.

Sam felt the realization like an electric shock. _No_…. Half of him denied it. This was a mind game. They wanted him to believe it.

The other half--what was left of the mourning little brother--was starting to do just that.

What if this really was Dean?

_But how--?_

"I don't understand--"

"I don't either," his captor interrupted from behind him, his voice cold. "I don't understand how the little brother I traded my soul for could just let me die like that."

Anger and--Sam hated to admit--hurt flared inside him. "I didn't--"

He was cut off when the blade flashed before his eyes, the demon driving it into his flesh at the left shoulder and slashing down Sam's chest, all the way to his right side. He cried out, unable to block the pain in time. Blood was already flowing freely from the gash. Sam's brain told him that the wound was likely superficial, but it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

Worse, the tissue around the slice seemed to heat up, and moments after the knife left his body, a sharp burning sensation radiating out, burning through skin, muscle and veins. Sam panted, trying to control the pain, when he heard his captor again.

"I don't understand how you could break a promise so easily."

Another slash, this time across the top of both shoulder blades. The burning around the edges started faster this time, taking Sam's breath away. He was shaking from the pain already, the attacks pushing him past his threshold faster than he expected.

"But, I guess you always did cut and ran when it counted. Didn't you, Sammy?"

Another cut up his left side blotted out any reply Sam could have mustered.

"That burning sensation? The blade is poisoned. Don't worry, it won't kill you, just make you wish it had."

Sam said nothing, gritting his teeth to stay silent. He wouldn't give Lilith the satisfaction of hearing him in pain. The blade sliced into his right thigh. He closed his eyes.

_Dean wouldn't do this_, he reassured himself. _This isn't Dean. Dean's gone_.

For the first time in months, Sam prayed. _Please don't let this be him_….

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_January 25, 2009_

_2:55 AM_

Bobby snapped his phone shut in frustration, pacing back and forth in front of the beds. "Joshua and Jefferson are in New Jersey; it'll take them a few days to get out here. Deacon's in Montana, he's coming as fast as he can."

Ellen sighed, looking from Bobby to the door. "Better than nothing."

"We should be out there with Ruby instead of sitting here on our butts."

"You heard her. The whole town is crawling with demons. If she can find out where Sam is without us losing the element of surprise--"

"I know," Bobby interrupted grumpily. "We have a better chance if they don't know we're coming. I know that, Ellen."

"Still don't trust her?" Ellen asked, peering at the older man.

"Do _you_?"

Ellen sighed. "No. But, she's kept her word so far."

"So we think," Bobby scoffed. "Who knows what goes on with demons when we're not looking? They're liars and killers, that's all they'll ever be."

Ellen smiled faintly. "You sound like Sam."

"He's not wrong to distrust her."

"Didn't say he was."

"We wouldn't have survived this long if not for Sam. He's winning this war for us, and he's practically doing it by himself," Bobby mused, almost sounding mournful.

"I know."

"I _told_ him not to go in by himself."

"I know."

"He's his father's son, _that's_ for sure," Bobby growled.

"Yes, he is."

"Do you have anything useful to add?" Bobby barked.

"Don't take that tone with me, Bobby Singer. Sam's as much part of my family as he is _yours_. But charging around town, letting every demon inside twenty miles know that we're here isn't going to help him."

Bobby stopped pacing, resting his hand on Sam's duffel. Ellen eyed him, knowing how he was feeling. He'd essentially adopted Sam and Dean after John passed. He'd done his best to hold Sam together after Dean.

Now, Sam might be dead or dying, and neither he nor Ellen knew what was going to happen next. She gestured casually in the direction of Sam's bag.

"So, what are we gonna do?"

Bobby huffed without humor. "We're gonna wait here, and trust _Ruby_ to find Sam for us."

Ellen laughed softly. "Yeah."

The conversation ended when the door opened, Ruby coming to a stop at the salt line with a huff of impatience. "Let me in, I've found Sam."

Bobby broke the line with his foot, then grimaced as the blond demon strode past him. "You're welcome…."

"Where is he?" Ellen asked, rising off the bed.

"The same warehouse you tracked Lilith to, and where Sam was ambushed tonight."

"He was ambushed? You didn't say that before," Bobby shot back, suspicious.

Ellen watched as Ruby settled at the small table. "You didn't ask. He was jumped when he went after Lilith. Killed eight of her demons, but he got hurt in the process."

"Anything else you didn't mention before you went out to find him?" Ellen asked angrily. She wasn't in the mood for demonic word games, not while Sam was in danger.

Bobby was already moving, though, grabbing his shotgun. "Forget it for now. We gotta get to that warehouse."

"You can't," Ruby sighed, not moving from her seat. "Lilith's there, so is Sam…but so are about thirty or forty more demons. They're guarding the place, watching the doors, the windows…it's locked down tight. Three of us won't be able to get in, we need more."

"Or a distraction," Ellen offered. Ruby shrugged noncommittally.

"We've got help coming," Bobby offered weakly.

"Joshua and Jefferson are a few _days_ away, Bobby," Ellen said. "Deacon's the only one even close."

She didn't say the rest, but she knew Bobby was already thinking it. _Sam might be dead by the time help gets here_.

The older hunter, though was lifting a map of the city off the bed by Sam's bag. "Well, let's have a plan ready for when he gets here."

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_January 25, 2009_

_Time Unknown_

Sam couldn't bite back the cry of pain as the knife slide down his forearm, leaving a bloody mess in its wake. The intense burning sensation from the poison now encompassed nearly his entire body. A constant film of sweat covered him. It made the chill of the warehouse much more noticeable. Fever made every move and twitch torture. His blood was hot against his clammy skin.

He didn't want to look down, since he could already feel that his clothes were soaked through with blood. At any rate, he couldn't open his eyes if he wanted to. Intense dizziness waited for him whenever he dared. Sam had no idea what the poison was doing, besides making him queasy, lightheaded and sick.

Dean was still ranting, digging up old hurts and bad memories Sam had spent the last few years burying--pausing only long enough between accusations to draw more blood. The list of reasons why Sam was a terrible excuse for a brother was seemingly endless. Sam didn't react to any of them.

It wasn't anything he hadn't thought before, after all, more than once. He wasn't a good brother? _Tell me something I don't know_. He'd failed Dean in the most fundamental and egregious way possible: he'd outlived him.

Dean was dead because of Sam. He had been to Hell because of Sam. Dean had been brought back in this heinous form--his very memory betrayed and tarnished--because Sam hadn't managed to hunt down and destroy Lilith fast enough.

He huffed in silent, painful mirth, realizing what he'd just thought to himself. _When did I decide this was Dean?_

It didn't matter, he supposed. If there was any justice in the world, Lilith would come back with some of her Hellhounds and take Sam to Hell, where he knew he belonged. If the demon, or revenant or zombie or _whatever_ in front of him was really his Dean or not…it didn't matter. It was just another mark of his failure.

Sam kinda hoped it was Dean, though.

At least this way, if it was really Dean, Sam would be punished the way he deserved to be by the person who deserved to punish him. It was only fair. The notion pleased him, odd as it seemed. He chuckled.

It didn't go unnoticed.

A hand gripped Sam's sweat-soaked hair, yanking his head back painfully. He forced his eyelids open, finding Dean's face inches away.

"Something funny?"

Sam smirked, too tired to argue. "Does it matter?"

Dean regarded him coldly, malice filling his otherwise familiar eyes. He brought the knife up, slowly dragging the tip down Sam's cheek. The pain was almost instantly joined by the burn of the poison, and blood flowed down his face onto his neck.

"Impolite not to share, little brother. I raised you better than that."

The knife, and Dean's attention, shifted to Sam's right bicep. "Not that you ever gave a damn about anything I taught you…."

"N'true…" Sam countered weakly, breath hitching at the pain, eyes drifting shut again. He wasn't sure why he bothered. Nothing he'd said since waking up here had made any difference to his captor. Something just compelled him to correct the falsehood this time.

Dean stopped carving into the muscle and looked back at him. Sam felt the blood trickling down inside his torn shirt sleeve. "That so?"

Sam swallowed, his throat almost too dry to speak. He'd kill for some water just now. "Y'can…be angry for how I acted…things I didn't do…but, don't tell me what I _thought_."

Dean grabbed Sam by the chin, gripping so hard Sam wondered if his jaw might break. "You left me in Hell. You gave up on me. I'd be surprised, but it's all just part of a pattern, Sam. You never gave a damn about anybody but yourself. You're worse than _Dad_."

The grip on his jaw tightened, so Sam stayed silent. He wanted to tell Dean he was wrong. At least on the leaving him in Hell part. Sam had scoured dozens of books, had called in every marker he had--not that he had many--in the last eight months, but he had found nothing that would have released Dean.

And despite a certain reckless edge he'd been sporting since being on his own, Sam couldn't quite rationalize away opening the Devil's Gate and letting everything out of Hell until he found Dean. He could have, maybe even would have, but he knew Dean would never have forgiven him for it. Or, at least, he thought he knew.

Dean stood, apparently tired of waiting for an answer, and dragged the knife down Sam's left arm as he casually circled around behind. "'Course that shouldn't surprise me either. Dad knew what you were. Told me, remember? Told me I'd have to kill you. He should have put you down himself long ago, instead of pretending his son was human."

Sam could barely feel the blade slitting his skin, the new pain being lost in the agony that pulsed through the rest of his body with every heartbeat. He turned his head slightly, listening, trying to see where this tirade was going. He found it too difficult, and just rested his forehead on his shredded upper arm. He felt no pain there, just the slow stream of blood soaking into his hair.

"I never pegged Dad as a sentimentalist, but I guess I was wrong," Dean continued, circling back around front. "He treated me like a dog, a little toy soldier…all the while knowing his youngest was a freak of nature."

Sam winced. That one hurt. He'd always feared how Dean had viewed him after discovering his psychic abilities. But fearing a bad reaction, and actually hearing one…two different things.

His brother dropped down into his field of view again, sneering. "And look how well that turned out. Dad got himself killed. You let me die. And pretty little Jess. How does that feel, Psychic Boy? Do you regret even a little of the damage you caused?"

Something inside Sam broke. Dean hadn't told him anything new, just laid it all out in the light for the first time. He raised his head, forcing his eyelids open long enough to meet Dean's gaze. He deciphered the look in his brother's eyes and knew this was it.

The opportunity he'd begged for since last May finally dropped into his lap.

"You have no idea, Dean. But you're right. Do it."

"Do what?"

"Do it, Dean!" Sam snapped. He was through playing. "You hate me so much? Fine. End it. You can finally end it."

Dean scoffed. "Lilith doesn't want--"

"Who cares? Do it, Dean. Do what you've wanted to do since you came to my motel room. I can see it in your eyes. Take that knife and do it, you fucking coward!"

Dean blinked, hesitating, but Sam saw the look in his eyes and knew he was just one push away.

This was it, Sam's chance. Maybe his last chance. And he was going to be selfish and take it. He was going to be selfish, just like Dean said. _I love you, Dean_.

"Do it! Be a man, for once and do what _you_ want, Dean!"

The words hit the mark. Enraged, Dean lunged forward, driving the knife into Sam's gut all the way to the hilt. He twisted it, causing Sam to scream, before yanking it out. The poison flooded through Sam, filled his abdomen with white hot fire.

Sam let his eyes shut again, thanking his brother silently. This was it.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

May 3, 2008

_Disclaimer: Sam's thoughts regarding his leaving for college near the end of this piece are purely the ravings of a poisoned and tortured mind, and do not reflect the author's opinion of Sam's choices. LOL!_

_Thanks to geminigrl11 for the beta. Reviews craved. I own nothing._

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**What Doesn't Kill You…**

_January 25, 2009_

_Time Unknown_

Pain was the first thing that registered. Mind-rending, white-hot, all-encompassing pain. He wanted to scream but couldn't. Nothing worked. His mouth, his throat, his lungs--it was like everything had been disconnected.

Through the fog of agony, his ears--which just started working again--detected faint whispers. The voices were quiet, but gravelly, like glass in a garbage disposal. The language was unfamiliar, which he felt should surprise him. It seemed like he should have knowledge like that.

If a disembodied pair of ears and an overloaded pain threshold knew anything.

The whispers slowed as the pain spiked, intensifying to the point where he wanted to pass out and go back to the oblivion from which he'd been slowly emerging. It didn't happen, though. He wasn't going anywhere.

Frustrated, he opened his eyes--he had eyes, it turned out--and was instantly blinded. The light around him was far too bright. As he snapped his eyes back shut, he caught a glimpse of someone, or something, in the shadows just past the blinding lights. It was a dark shape that vaguely resembled a human.

Sam's lungs chose that moment to return, and he gasped so hard that he choked, wheezing helplessly. A hand grasped the side of his head, and he flinched, expecting the pain to increase, but instead, the hand simply held him up. It was almost comforting.

"Calm down. Take it slow. It's almost over," a voice cooed. A voice he should know--

Dean.

The hand stroked his sweat-soaked hair. If Sam hadn't known better, he would've described it as kindly. Loving. But, he did know better. No one cared for Sam like that anymore.

He shied away from the hand, wanting to be alone, but his muscles refused to respond the way he wished, and his head merely lolled limply to the side. The hand didn't leave. Dean's voice was still there, too.

"You shouldn't have made me mad like that, Sam."

Sam managed to drop his head between his chained arms, finally dislodging the hand. There, better protected from the light, he could see clearly. His shirt and jeans were soaked through with blood--his, he knew--but the various cuts and gashes left by Dean's knife were gone.

So was the stab wound in his stomach.

Besides the dried, itchy blood and the poison that he could still feel burning inside him, there was no evidence of his injuries. Sam blinked, confused. How was that possible?

He struggled to raise his head, and felt the hand again, helping him. He squinted at Dean's blurred visage. Sam's tongue felt like sandpaper on his dry, cracked lips. He got out the word "how?" before erupting into a hacking cough.

"Slow, Sam. Try to swallow."

Sam did as he was told. Swallowing made it a little easier.

"Why--how--am I still alive?"

Dean nodded toward the shadows to their left. "Healer fixed you up. Lilith doesn't want you dead, yet. You got me into some trouble."

"Sorry if…bothered…you…." Sam felt like it should be sarcasm, but, instead, his words came out earnestly. He'd caused his brother enough trouble and pain for one lifetime, after all.

For a moment, amusement crinkled Dean's eyes. The look was fleeting, and quickly shifted to something that Sam might once have called affection. Sam was transfixed. He hadn't seen this look on Dean in eight months.

The expression faded fast, and was replaced by a frown. Dean stood, backing away with a frown. Sam wanted him to come back, but said nothing.

Without a word, Dean spun on his heel and stalked out of the spotlight into the darkness. Sam couldn't see anything, but he heard a door open and slam shut in the distance.

Sam sagged in his chains, not caring when the spikes inside his shackles dug into his wrists. Whatever the healer had done to him, it was merely damage control. His energy level was so low he could barely keep his eyelids raised. It felt like he'd been awake for days.

He huffed humorlessly_. I don't even know what day it is_….

Sam could feel the torturous poison pulsing through him with every heartbeat. It prevented him from passing out and escaping the pain. Resting his too-heavy head on his right arm--his completely healed right arm, the healer fixed everything--he sighed.

Pissing off Dean hadn't worked the way he'd hoped.

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_January 26, 2009_

_1:35 AM_

_"SAM!"_

_His cries for help went unanswered, as always. His brother couldn't hear him. _

_There weren't any torture methods left to endure. They'd used every conceivable method and technique. Dean refused to believe that there could possibly be any more ways to inflict pain. _

_He saw two oily black demons approaching, slithering through the rusty web of chains, illuminated by flashes of hell fire. _

_Moments later, as he writhed and screeched in agony, he realized he had been wrong. There _were_ more ways_--

Dean shook off the memory and resumed his angry pacing outside the warehouse door. A few dozen feet away, two demons in possessed human hosts watched him as they lazily rested against a stack of crates. They appeared amused.

_Fuck 'em!_ Dean kept pacing, trying to calm himself down. Sam. This was all Sam's fault. The kid wasn't supposed to be able to use that abused puppy look on him anymore. But, Sam had gotten under his skin somehow, the bastard.

Sam had betrayed him. He'd let him go to Hell even after swearing up and down that he wasn't going to allow it. Dean, idiot that he was, had let himself to be lulled into believing it.

Yet, when the time came, had Sam followed through on his promises? No. Sam had let Lilith sic the dogs on him, literally. Had he stopped Lilith? No. Used his super-special psychic bullshit to help his brother? No. Sam had done nothing, except deliver Dean right into Lilith's hands.

_"SAM!!"_ _Sam was out there, somewhere, trying to get to him, Dean was sure of that. He just needed to scream loud enough, break the oppressive veil of pain and misery that surrounded and pervaded his body. If he screamed louder, Sam would come. _

_"He won't. He's forgotten you."_

_Dean ignored the whispers. The demons lied, lied and hurt him. They wanted him to think Sam wasn't coming but he was. Sam was coming._

_"SAM, PLEASE!!"_

"Dean?"

He looked up at the sound of the little girl's voice. Lilith approached from the darkened warehouse's office area. She'd set up in there, with her demonic minions. Dean barely suppressed a sneer. He knew Lilith was responsible for releasing him, and he owed her for that, but there were limits. She was a demon, a damned liar, just like Sam. He would play her game just long enough to get back at Sam, then he was gone.

She had made it clear: he would be free if he killed Sam--slowly, so she could enjoy it. Dean had no problem with that. His brother had betrayed him. Sam wasn't worth saving. But, that was the extent of Dean's loyalty to Lilith. Once Sam was taken care of, Dean planned on hitting the road.

If Lilith wanted to argue with him about that, he would just have to introduce her to the business end of the Colt. Dean casually checked his shirt, to make sure the gun was still concealed, then turned to the approaching demon bitch.

"Is Sam alive?"

"_SAM!" _

"_Sam's alive. He's left you for dead. He could have saved you, but he left you with us."_

"_SAM!!"_

Dean nodded distractedly. "The healer is finished."

"Good," Lilith crowed, as if Dean had just announced he'd gotten the little girl a new Barbie. "Why did you stab him?"

"_Sam left you for dead. He doesn't deserve to live. He betrayed you."_

"He made me mad," Dean shrugged.

Lilith regarded him for a moment, seeming to want to say something, then just shrugged. "I want him to pay."

"_SAM!_

"_If your father had killed him like he was supposed to, you wouldn't be here, suffering so…"_

"_SAMMY!!"_

"_He laughs, you know. He laughs when he thinks about the deal you made. He thinks you were an idiot. He laughs when he pictures you down here. Sam only cares about himself. You know this, Dean."_

"_SAM! PLEASE! DAMN YOU, SAM! PLEASE HELP ME!" _

Dean nodded. "He will."

Lilith nodded, taking the hand of one of her bodyguards and skipping away, back toward the offices.

"_He's not coming. He isn't even looking for you."_

"_SAM! SAM WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME?!"_

"_He never wanted to help you. Think about it. Do you think it would take a year for a genius like Sam to find a way to break a simple crossroads deal?"_

__

"SAM!!"

"_Don't believe us? Why hasn't he come? Surely a psychic as powerful as him can hear your screams. Ask yourself why he's left you here so long. He had the power to save you even before that night…."_

"_SAM?! WHY, SAM?! SAMMY! DAMN YOU, SAM! HELP ME!"_

_Sam didn't answer. Surely Sam could hear him…. _

Dean watched the deceptively childlike demon leave, then turned back to the warehouse door. His brother was inside. The brother he'd raised, loved more than himself. The brother who'd abandoned him, once for Stanford and Jess, once to Hell itself. The brother who'd betrayed him.

Dean stepped through the door.

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_January 26, 2009_

_2:20 AM_

Bobby pointed to a spot on the map, a building across the street from the warehouse in which Sam was being held. "Right here, the blueprints say the water main for that whole block runs through there. We bless the water at that point, then we set off the sprinklers in the warehouse. Every demon inside will be distracted enough for us to bust in and find Sam."

It was a workable plan, if not particularly safe for whoever had to get to that spot. It was pretty much the same tactic they'd used against Lilith in Indiana the night Dean died. The hardest part would be getting into the adjacent building undetected. Lilith's demons were everywhere, and Bobby, Ruby, and Ellen were all unfortunately well-known to the enemy.

"That's where I come in, right?" Deacon asked, examining the map closely. He pointed to an alley on the opposite side of the building from the warehouse. "Will they have this side street covered?"

"I don't know," Ruby interjected. "They didn't when I was snooping around, but Lilith's not stupid, and she knows Sam's friends are in town."

Deacon looked up, smiling faintly. "But, they don't know that we're stupid enough to try a frontal assault on forty or more demons."

"Which raises the question of _are_ we that stupid?" Ellen asked, drumming her fingers impatiently on the table. The question was only rhetorical--questioning the tactics, not the plan--Deacon knew. She was as anxious to get to Sam as the others.

Deacon scanned the other three faces in the room. He didn't see much hope, only resignation. Shaking his head, he stepped back from the table and paced in a slow circle.

Since arriving hours before, he had noticed a serious drop in morale. Bobby and Ellen were both seasoned hunters, good at what they did, and Ruby, while untrustworthy and arrogant, seemed just as morose as the others. Sam Winchester, despite himself, had been holding this group together since losing Dean. His leadership, reluctant and unrecognized as it was, had been winning this war for them.

He wondered if Sam had any idea how much he was needed.

Still pacing, Deacon eyed the depressed group before him. "When Johnny and I were in Vietnam, our squad was pinned down by enemy fire. It was bad; they outnumbered us at _least_ three to one. Our CO was down. John was trapped behind a tree between us and them, leg was all shot up, and nobody was stupid enough to go out and help him."

He glanced over, noting that the other three were still paying attention. "So, I decided it right there. A few of us lobbed grenades right into the center of the enemy's hiding place, and broke up the fire. I crawled out, and after tossing a few more grenades, I dragged Johnny back to our line and we got out of there."

Ruby was frowning at him. "Great story. What's your point?"

Deacon stopped pacing and moved back to the map and tapped a spot about a city block away from the warehouse. "Point is, Johnny's baby boy is out there now, and we need to lob a few grenades. This sewer tunnel leads right under the building with the water main. I can go in here, well out of sight, and get to the main without any of them spotting me."

Ellen sat up. "Ruby didn't scout the sewers. That's a big risk, Deacon. There could be more demons down there."

"That's a chance I have to take. When I give you the signal, hit the warehouse. Go right in the front door, and set off the sprinkler system. No time to start a fire, so you'll probably need to blow something up."

Ellen smirked at that and muttered under her breath. "_Marines_…."

Ruby looked from the map to the others and back, then gathered her weapons and headed for the door. "Well, if we're going to commit suicide, let's get it over with."

"I wonder if Sam's all right," Ellen asked the room at large as she watched Ruby pack.

"Kid's made of leather," Deacon murmured, allowing a glimmer of pride to show through for John's youngest. "If the past eight months didn't kill him, nothing can."

He hoped to God he was right.

Ellen gathered what she needed and followed Ruby outside. Deacon was reaching for his bag when he realized that Bobby was staring at him. "What?"

"When John told that story," Bobby smirked. "He's the one who threw the grenades."

Deacon laughed. "Well, Johnny always was a spotlight hog."

The two men headed for the door, respective weapon bags slung over shoulder. Deacon tapped Singer's arm.

"Hey, is that grenade launcher still in the trunk? The one Dean picked up in Arizona? I have an idea."

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_January 26, 2009_

_2:50 AM_

The images were the worst part of his new life, the memories. They'd shown him things while he was in hell. They'd shown him Sam.

Dean had watched Sam, unable to close his eyes or ignore what he was seeing, for months after the night in Indiana. As if it wasn't bad enough that Sam had left him, trapped and tortured, when he'd had the ability to save him, Sam had added insult to injury, systematically destroying everything Dean and their father had left him, given him. Everything that had been held dear.

He'd seen Sam burning his body, his clothes, the photos rescued from their old house, even Dad's journal. Sam had rid himself of all of it, as emotionlessly as someone taking out the trash.

The image that Dean remembered the most clearly, though, was his amulet. He'd treasured it, that small gift from his beloved little brother more than anything else. They'd moved around so much growing up that Dean had become practically nomadic. No possession held meaning for him, since being on the move meant traveling light. Unnecessary books, movies, souvenirs, anything that didn't fit in the trunk or under the seat was always left behind. He'd discarded favorite jackets, shirts, weapons, _food_, but never once considered leaving the amulet behind. Apart from rare occasions like hospitalization or that damned shapeshifter, he never even took it off. Not willingly, anyway.

It was with horror that Dean watched Sam pluck that one most guarded object from his shredded body, stare at it for a moment, and then crush it under his boot. Sam's sneering laughter had filled his ears, and broken him more effectively than any demon's torture. He'd seen that over and over, at first refusing to believe it.

But, if it wasn't true, how was he seeing it? He'd seen Sam, he knew it was Sam, he knew Sam too well to doubt that. Demons lied, of course, he knew that, too. On the other hand, he was already in their clutches…so why bother lying to him?

The sight of it made his blood boil. Anger made his vision go red. How dare Sam? That amulet was _his_. It was a symbol, a marker of the moment the normal brotherly bond between him and Sam had become unbreakable. Despite Dean's love for their father, that had been the night he realized that no matter what happened, it was him and Sam. Forever.

It incensed Dean just thinking about it.

It was that anger, than betrayal that had fueled Dean more than anything else the last few days. He had loved his brother…_so damned much_. How could Sam abandon him like that?

_It's in Sam's nature_, they'd told him. And for once in Dean's life, Sam's actions started to make sense. The way he'd professed bleeding heart ideals, yet didn't hesitate to gun down Jake in cold blood. The way he hadn't hesitated to kill people like Gordon, or the possessed humans they'd been finding after the devil's gate opened, the Crossroads Demon herself. It all pointed to something Dean had purposefully ignored.

Sam wasn't human, not the way Dean had once thought.

The heartless things he'd done since Dean had last seen him, those were surprising, but they fit, too. The antiques dealer in Africa that Sam had killed, just to retrieve the Colt, the sailors he'd murdered during that same trip. The people in all those dark alleys that Sam cut down just to get to Lilith….

Sam wasn't the innocent kid Dean had always believed him to be, he was killer. Dad's last warning about Sam seemed more prophetic all the time. Dean should have listened to it more carefully.

Dean shook off his thoughts as he re-entered the warehouse's main floor. His brother was there, right where Dean had left him, chained beneath the spotlight. Sam looked exhausted, and Dean had no doubt he was. The poison that had coated the knife acted like a stimulant, keeping a person awake no matter how tired, no matter how far past the pain threshold the body was pushed. It was also very painful, like acid in the blood and muscles. The pinched look on Sam's face was one of the few signs of the agony he was no doubt in, though, and Dean had to admit to being impressed with his endurance.

Sam's freakish nature was asserting itself. A normal human would have been begging for death by now, but Sam's ramped-up strength and demonically-assisted immune system was keeping him together.

Dean slowed as he approached, looking the kid over. It was hard to believe that this man, whom Dean had protected his whole live, could be so callously disloyal. All the talk of brotherhood and family…it had all been so _meaningless_.

The rage burned in Dean's belly, and he stalked the last few feet to his bound captive and grabbed him by the too-long hair. "Rise and shine, freak."

Sam roused slightly, dilated eyes blinking lethargically, clearly delirious. "Dean…?"

Dean frowned at the confusion in the face that bordered on disbelief. The poison must have been hitting Sam harder than he thought. It wouldn't kill Sam, but he wouldn't be lucid for very long, either. _Figures he'd check out when the going got tough_….

"Well, Lilith wants us to get started again, Sam. What do you want to talk about?"

Sam didn't answer, just grunted when Dean released his hair, his head lolling back to rest on his arm once more. Dean grimaced, unsure why Sam's silence unnerved him so much. He was past this, past falling for Sam's innocent little brother act. Sam shouldn't be getting under his skin so easily.

Shaking off his unease, Dean unsheathed the knife and circled Sam. He'd have to be more careful this time, less involved. _No stabbing the prisoner when he pisses you off_. At least until Lilith was done playing around.

"There's gotta be something on your mind, Sam," Dean taunted, bringing the blade down on Sam's shoulder. Blood trickled slowly from the cut.

"You never knew how to shut up before, don't go quiet on me, now."

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_January 26, 2009_

_3:30 AM_

Getting into the building was easy. The sewer tunnel wasn't guarded and all of Lilith's sentries were on the other side of the street.

Deacon found the main water line right where the blueprints stated, in a sub-basement of the abandoned office building, and laid a protective line of salt along the door and windows of the small room. There was a rectangular, shuttered window just above his head, allowing him to watch the warehouse and the guards without them seeing him.

He unscrewed the access cover as quietly as he could, although he was fairly certain nothing would hear it. The pipeline was harder to force open, given all the corrosion, but after a few heaves, it gave way and the sound of rushing water filled the room.

_All right, now the fun starts_. Deacon pulled a string of rosary beads from his coat and said a quick blessing in Latin, then recited a longer Catholic ritual as he dipped the rosary in the water, and secured it to a bolt along the edge of the opening so that it would continue to work as the water flowed past.

_Hope to God this works…. _

Deacon closed the hatch, and opened his cell, dialing Bobby. When the older man answered, Deacon said the code word.

"Grenade."

He closed the phone and stepped up to the window, silently sliding the glass open so he could hear.

Moments later, he heard a car screech to a stop somewhere just out of sight. Before the demons guarding the door could react, Deacon heard the distinct _FWOOMP_ of the grenade launcher from the back of the Impala.

The large rolling door was ripped open by an explosion, a large hole forming dead center. Several of the guards were blown into the street, wounded, if not dead. Another _FWOOMP_ sent a second grenade through the opening to detonate inside. The explosion, its force vented out in the confined space, blew the remains of the door off their hinges, leaving the place wide open and starting a fire among the stacks of boxes and paper inside.

_If the sprinkler system works_-- It did. Water burst from the ceiling, showering the remaining guards in holy water. They howled and tried to crawl away. Ruby appeared from around the corner, using her knife to dispatch the guards with frightening efficiency. Ellen and Bobby appeared, racing up to the door and pushing past the fire. The loud report of shotguns could be heard inside.

His job done, Deacon headed back to the sewer. After he retrieved his car, he'd meet the others, who hopefully would have Sam, and they'd beat a path out of town.

Assuming they all survived this crazy attack.

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_January 26, 2009_

_3:05 AM_

Sam didn't even cry out anymore, merely groaning as the knife traveled down his side, leaving a bloody gash in its wake. Dean frowned. Maybe he needed to slap Sam around a little to wake him up. The poison was working too fast.

As Dean moved back to the front of his prisoner, he heard Sam muttering something. He leaned in, trying to decipher the barely audible words, and stopped short. He couldn't believe it.

Sam was _singing_.

It was so soft Dean almost missed it, but Sam was definitely singing.

"Wanted…_wanted_…dead or alive…_dead or alive_…."

_If this _is_ my last day, I do _not_ want it to be socially awkward_.

Dean blinked, shaking his head as the memory surfaced.

_Bon Jovi?_

_Bon Jovi rocks. On occasion_.

Dean grabbed his head, the memory of his last night before the hounds had taken him literally hurting. He didn't understand what was happening. Sam was lost in delirium; he couldn't be doing anything to influence Dean towards sympathy. Besides, the spell drawn in blood on his forehead should have prevented that. The lyrics themselves were harmless, so what was causing--?

He gasped as the image of Sam burning his body flashed before his eyes, followed quickly by the scene of Sam crushing the amulet under his boot. Rage flared inside Dean, blotting out the sudden headache.

_Sam_. Sam had betrayed him…. Sam had abandoned him….

The anger overrode his caution, and he reached forward, yanking Sam's head up by the hair. The emotion tearing at Dean's insides was so powerful he was crying. Jesus, he was actually crying. _What's happening to me?_

"You left me," Dean snarled, pressing his face right up to Sam's and seeing the blown pupils, the sweat-drenched skin, and only growing angrier. "You promised you'd save me, you bastard. _You let me die!_"

Sam blinked slowly, as if noticing Dean for the first time. "Would have…would...have done _anything_…."

Dean sneered. "Yeah, I'll bet. You'd have done anything to get rid of me, huh? Anything to sell me up the river."

Sam seemed to try and shake his head, but failed, neck barely responding. "Would have…save you…."

Dean frowned. "What?"

Sam blinked once, and for a moment, the person beneath all the pain and poison peeked through, weakly, before sinking again. "Would have…done…anything…save you…."

_Would have done anything to save you_.

Taken aback by the obvious lie, Dean sputtered. "Yeah…yeah, _right_!"

The image of Sam crushing the amulet flashed again, leaving Dean angrier than before. He raised the knife to Sam's neck, intent on cutting the lying, manipulative little bastard's throat once and for all. _To hell with Lilith_.

"Sure Sam. Lie to me. Lie to yourself, I don't give a damn. You never cared about me at all, did you? Well…payback's a bitch."

He started drawing the knife across Sam's neck, anger pushing him forward while his instincts screamed at him to stop. After about an inch, the knife jumped, and something fell out of Sam's shirt, clinking on the floor. Dean pulled back and looked down to find whatever had fallen.

Dean's eyes caught the glint of gold in Sam's shadow, near his knee, and he gasped in shock.

It was his amulet.

Dean froze. The image of Sam smashing it flashed through his mind again, along with that burning hatred that always accompanied it. But, this time the image froze as his eyes examined the amulet lying just inches away from his foot.

Sam had smashed it, broken his word, their brotherhood…but the amulet was right in front of him, whole and undamaged, save the now severed leather necklace. Severed.

Dean dragged his eyes up to see blood spurting from the wound on Sam's neck, coating the knife and his hand. Sam was bleeding out. The blade had severed an artery.

Frozen in indecision, Dean just stared. Sam hadn't destroyed the amulet. But-- A voice in his head screamed for him to move, to do something…Sam was dying right in front of him.

Snapping out of it, Dean turned to the healer, who was watching from the far wall. "Get over here, now!"

The cloaked creature jumped in surprise, then scuttled over to them. Dean pointed at Sam's injury and barked. "Heal him! Lilith doesn't want him dead yet!"

The healer went to work, spinning its particular brand of black magic. Dean reeled. His eyes dropped back to the amulet. Scooping it up, all he could do was stare at it.

He'd watched Sam destroy it, over and over. It had been real, he knew it. But even month after agonizing month of viewing that scene in Hell while demons ripped at his soul couldn't compete with hard evidence. Dean had the amulet in his hand. It had fallen from Sam's neck and he was holding it in his hand.

Sam had kept it, worn it. Sam hadn't destroyed it. Sam hadn't--

A hiss from behind told him the healer was finished. Dean turned back to it and nodded. "Good. Now, get out."

The healer stared at him for a moment, obviously confused. Dean growled at it.

"I said leave. Now. I'll call you when I'm ready for you again. I want a little--private time--with my traitor of a brother."

The lies tasted foul in his mouth, but the healer seemed to buy into them. No doubt it had enjoyed Sam's suffering as much as Lilith. It smiled--hideously…Dean had never liked this thing--and moved off. Dean waited for it to clear the room before moving.

When he heard the door open and close, he moved cautiously toward Sam. The black magic that stitched the wounds closed lessened the poison's effects only slightly, but Sam would be a bit more lucid, for a few minutes, anyway. Dean knelt in front of Sam, pulling his slumping head forward and holding the amulet where Sam could see it.

"Sam? Sam," Dean shook his brother slightly, rousing him. Sam's eyes cracked open. "Sam, you kept this? My amulet…you were wearing it?"

Sam nodded groggily, but didn't seem to be following the same train of thought as Dean. Dean shook him again, a little more gently. "Why?"

"Reminded…me of…you…." Sam mumbled. The undertone of _why else?_ was clear in his voice.

Dean's eyes welled up, partly from anger, partly from horror at what he'd done. _Those mother-fucking demons_…. "Sam…you didn't give up on me, did you?"

Sam's eyes rolled in their sockets, and Dean realized that his brother wasn't even here now, but in some place only he could see. "Just…you and me…."

Dean choked on a sob, leaning forward to press his forehead against Sam's. The note of faith in his little brother's voice broke him. After everything Dean had done, after eight months alone, Sam still hadn't given up on him.

_I have to get him out of here. They'll kill him. _Dean knew his life was on the block, now, too. Maybe it always had been. He was such an idiot.

"Oh, God," Dean gasped. "Oh, God, Sam…I've fucked us both, bro. They'll never let us leave. Lilith--"

"Stupid radio broke…couldn't…Bon Jovi tape's…stuck in it…."

Dean frowned. The poison's effects were pushing Sam further into delirium. Dean looked under the drooping eyelids and saw the dilated pupils, and the pain showing through in the face.

"Sam? Listen. If I break the binding spell, can you break the chains? Sam, focus man! Can you break the chains?"

Sam frowned, seemed to focus on Dean's face for a moment, then shrugged_. Not the most encouraging there, bro_….

Dean brought the knife up, but hesitated. The only way to break the psychic binding spell was to literally break the skin and the blood-painted sigils…but he'd already done so much damage with the blade…. He steeled himself. They didn't have a lot of time or a lot of chances, and it was very likely that they were both going to be dead very soon. "Sorry, Sammy. One more cut, then we're done."

The kid didn't even blink, just withdrew. No doubt convinced that the torture was about to begin again. Dean suppressed the urge to curse himself or scream in rage. He'd done this. He'd broken his brother so badly that--

_Shut up! Just do it_.

As carefully as he could, Dean slid the knife's edge right down the center of Sam's forehead, blocking out the small hiss of pain from Sam, lest he stop cutting. The wound wasn't deep, probably wouldn't even scar, but it did the job. The binding spell flashed angrily with translucent fire as the black magic was dispersed, then burned away rapidly. A second later, and Sam was free of it.

Not that it helped. Sam's head rolled back, limp. Dean grabbed the younger man's head, keeping it upright. "No time to sleep, now, Sam. Come on. Sam! Pay attention, man. _Look at your chains_."

Dean bit his lip, casting a wary glance over his shoulder. They were still alone for now, but he had no idea if Lilith was monitoring them somehow. If she was, they were getting in more trouble with every moment they stayed here.

Worse, he wasn't entirely sure breaking the binding spell would be enough. What if Sam's psychic abilities didn't rebound right away? The knife he carried wouldn't cut the shackles, and using the Colt would bring the guards running for sure.

He shook Sam again, rousing him. "Sam. Focus on the chains. Break, 'em, I know you can."

Sam blinked, eyes clearly briefly as they zeroed in on Dean's face. Pain caused the skin around his eyes to crease. "Dean?"

"Sam, please. I know it hurts, okay? I know. But you have to do this. Use your mojo and break the chains, Sam."

Something apparently registered, because the chains holding Sam's wrists suddenly snapped and swung away, followed by the sound of the ankle chains opening. Sam hadn't even looked at them. Unfortunately, with the chains gone, Sam's ravaged body had nothing supporting it. He crumpled like a rag doll, eyes drifting closed again.

Dean would have to carry him out.

The sound of an explosion stopped Dean cold. It was close. A second boom followed soon after, and shattered the windows along the far wall. Dean flinched as ice cold water showered down on them from the sprinklers. Gunfire sounded next, somewhere in the building.

Nothing else mattered, since the door flew open, admitting the little girl Lilith possessed, and one of her guards. The guard was barely walking, screeching as the water burned him. _Holy water in the sprinklers_, Dean realized. Others were coming, hunters likely. He also noticed that Lilith was walking just fine, unaffected.

_You think something like that works on something like me?_

Azazel's words floated back to him. He remembered that some demons were too powerful for things like holy water.

Lilith reached him, and glared at Sam, then at Dean. She screamed in fury--which was only slightly less intimidating coming from a ten year-old girl--and flicked her hand, sending Dean flying before his hand could reach the Colt.

Time was up.

Dean watched the scene unfold before him, almost in slow motion, as he struggled to rise and aim the Colt. Lilith picked up Dean's dropped knife and stood over Sam, about to deliver a killing blow. Sam's head raised groggily…and Lilith dropped the knife. She screamed as she was extracted forcefully from her human host. The thick black cloud hovered there for a moment, until Sam passed out again, releasing her.

Lilith was just getting back into her host when Dean pulled the trigger.

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_January 26, 2009_

_Time Unknown_

Sam had been going in and out for a while, slowly losing himself in the pulsing agony that the poison had been inflicting on him. He knew Dean had come back, and had felt the knife slicing into him again, but that was about it. His mind was wandering too much for anything to really register. Even the knife didn't hurt the way it had earlier.

_Maybe Dean isn't cutting as deep_. _He wasn't happy that I almost died on him_.

His mind drifted again, memories he hadn't indulged for months surfacing and dragging him down with them. Sam found himself remember that last car ride with Dean, on the way to Indiana…oh, God, he wished he'd ignored Dean and told him how he felt. Later, there hadn't even been time to say goodbye.

Instead, he'd chickened out, let Dean drag him into singing along the way they had when they were younger…when one of them wasn't near death almost everyday. Those had been happy times, even if Sam and their Dad were duking it out daily.

_Dead or alive_….

The words were strangely appropriate for them.

He should never have left Dean. His brother had sacrificed for him since he was a toddler, and Sam had bailed just to get away from Dad and a life that terrified him. How selfish was that? Dean had every right to hate him….

Speaking of Dean, his brother was staring him in the face, talking to him. Sam wondered if he was answering back. Not that it mattered. Dean never listened. He tried to focus anyway, Dean seemed insistent about that. _Chains?_ Dean was shaking him. Sam struggled to stay away from the darkness that was beckoning. The poison wouldn't let him pass out completely, Sam knew, but there was nothing stopping him from zoning out for a little while.

Dean was still shaking him. Sam cracked his aching eyes open and stared at the insistent face again. He only heard the last part of whatever Dean was saying.

"--break the chains, Sam."

Oh. Yeah, okay. He had to work at it, but an image of his shackles emerged from the sludge of his thoughts, and Sam imagined them breaking. _Can I go to sleep, now, Dean?_

His arms and feet were suddenly free, and Sam tried to shift his weight, but all he accomplished was tipping himself over. Strangely, hitting the floor--as he knew he must have, since the room tilted sharply--didn't hurt at all. Sam decided to just rest here for a moment. There was no telling when Dean was going to start cutting him again, so he needed to enjoy every moment of peace he could find.

Someone screamed. At first, Sam wondered if he was the one screaming, but it didn't sound right. Too high-pitched. He struggled to raise his head and find the source, his blurred eyes finding a young girl standing over him with Dean's knife. No, scratch that, a demon. Sam frowned, and he reached out with his mind to shut her up.

The effort was exhausting, and Sam let his head drop again. He heard the crack of a gun shot, but didn't bother to look. If he was lucky, the gun had been aimed at him.

Nothing happened for a while, and Sam just drifted. The pain was still burning inside, but if he stayed very still, it faded almost into the background, becoming just bearable. He'd just have to stay still forever.

For a moment, Sam thought he felt himself being lifted off the ground, but dismissed it as improbable. Dean wasn't through with him yet, and Sam knew he wasn't going anywhere. He waited for the chains to lock over his wrists again, but nothing happened.

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_February 2, 2009_

_Time Unknown_

Consciousness came in flashes. Darkness, pure white, darkness, pain, panic, darkness, blood, all swirled through Sam's brain in a kaleidoscope of disjointed and confusing images and feelings. Nothing made sense anymore.

As far as Sam was concerned, this was what his once-ordered and practical life had devolved into during the past few months, a hideous amalgamation of pain and grief and blood, without end.

So, really, whatever his mind was doing now wasn't all that different from what he'd been experiencing since the previous May.

The searing pain that seemed to envelope him was new, though. He vaguely remembered a knife, and Dean, and bright lights and more blood. There was always blood. On his clothes, in his thoughts, on his hands, dripping onto his forehead, flowing out of a gunshot wound in Madison's chest, soaking through Dean's clothes after the Hell-hounds finished tearing him apart…. Blood was something with which Sam was very familiar. But, the pain was new.

A dark shape loomed over him from time to time, and Sam would have thought perhaps that it was Death, or a reaper, had the shape not repeatedly forced something foul and thick down his throat. Whenever he gagged on that tar-like liquid, he would fall back into a nightmarish rush of memories, nearly all of which centered on Dean, but at least the pain receded a little.

Words would filter through the dark haze. "Easy…will help…antidote…."

The words made no sense to him, but every time, almost immediately, a warm feeling would pervade his body, his paralyzed muscles would unclench and his heart would slow. The warmth relaxed him, and before long he was sliding back into oblivion.

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_February 3, 2009_

_Time Unknown_

Sam opened his eyes and was greeted by a plain white field of nothing. It took a moment for his brain to conclude _ceiling_. He wasn't in the warehouse anymore. The room was darkened, a light source somewhere casting long shadows and creating patterns on the white stucco ceiling. Sam blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. He felt no pain, just a faint headache, and he was capable of moving again. His muscles were weak, causing his arms to flop uselessly, but he could move around if he concentrated.

The bed dipped, and Sam's eyes slid over to find Dean sitting next to him. There was no fight or flight reaction, he just acknowledged his captor's presence with a tired blink. He couldn't muster enough energy for anything more elaborate. Dean didn't look offended, just reached over and propped Sam's head enough to pour something out of a paper cup into his mouth.

Sam swallowed gratefully, not caring what it was so long as his throat stopped feeling like the Mojave. He paused only briefly to worry about _what_ he was drinking.

"It's just water," Dean reassured simply.

Sam licked his lips, then tested his voice. It was scratchy and hoarse from disuse, but it was working again. "How-- How long was--?"

Dean looked at him for a minute, trying to decipher, apparently, then nodded. "Almost a week. You were delirious from the poison, took a long time to get it out of your system."

Sam frowned, trying to piece together fragmented memories. "That oily stuff?"

"Yeah, antidote."

"Tasted…like ass," Sam muttered, a little petulantly. Dean just stared for a few long seconds, then smiled faintly for some reason.

"It's witchcraft, shortbus. You're lucky I could find the ingredients."

Sam fought to keep his eyes open; it would be all too easy to slip back into sleep. But, he had to know a few things, first. "Why're…you helping me?"

The already faint smile disappeared completely off Dean's face. Silently, he reached into a pocket and brought something out. When Dean reopened his hand, Sam saw that he was holding the amulet he'd always worn, save for the last eight months. Dean took Sam's limp hand and placed the amulet in his palm, squeezing the lax fingers around it.

"This is why."

Sam stared at the otherwise ordinary piece of jewelry for a moment, then looked back at Dean, who looked miserable. "I don't understand."

"Those bastards, they--" Dean swept the lamp off the nearby nightstand; Sam would have flinched at the display of rage if he'd had the strength. "They made me think you'd destroyed it. Showed me things…. They made me think you'd turned on me, betrayed me, Sam. God, I was so stupid-- I hated you so much for that…they made me hate you."

Dean was seething, and Sam was at a loss for words. Not that he would have done any better if he'd been at full health. What could he say that wouldn't sound trite or patronizing?

Not knowing what else to do, he reached out and opened his hand. Dean was caught off-guard, and stared at the proffered amulet as if it were a coiled snake.

"No-- No. I can't," Dean whispered shyly. It reminded Sam of the first time he'd given it to him. "I almost killed you. I don't deserve it."

Sam looked at the gift, then back at Dean, knowing that Dean was seeing it for what it was, forgiveness. What else did he have to give to his brother? What could he ever deny him? He shrugged as best he could. "Neither do I. So, you take it."

Dean stared at him for a moment, mouth working as though he wanted to speak, but had forgotten how. He reached out and took the amulet, fingers lingering on Sam's for the briefest of moments. Staring at the necklace, Dean made no move to put it on.

"How could I believe them?" he murmured.

"I saw some of what you went through," Sam admitted slowly. "I think they could have made you believe anything they wanted."

Dean eyed him, then settled back onto the edge of the bed with a weary sigh. He didn't move or speak, which became awkward after a while. Sam shifted, trying to sit up but failing miserably. The movement set Dean into protective mode, and he hefted Sam up gently so he could sit against the headboard, muttering with annoyance about Sam not taking care of himself. The familiarity of it all made Sam's eyes moisten.

A few minutes of silence went by as they surreptitiously peered at each other, neither certain what to do next. When Sam couldn't stand it anymore, he broke the silence.

"So, um-- I guess…I mean…you're really _you_."

Dean frowned, turning back to lift an eyebrow in confusion.

"You're not a…demon," Sam clarified.

His brother's eyes widened in comprehension. He shook his head. "I, uh-- I had some help with the tricks."

A black talisman appeared in Dean's hand. "Lilith gave it to me. It let me do some of the things a demon could do, like the teleporting and stuff. Made my eyes black, too."

"Why?" Sam asked simply, energy beginning to wane.

"All part of her stupid mind games," Dean shrugged. "She wanted you to suffer, and she thought if you thought I'd turned…."

Sam nodded slowly. Lilith's ploy had worked. He chose not to share that with Dean right now.

"Anyway," Dean continued, tossing the pedant onto the other bed. "I didn't know if I'd need it to help you, so I kept it for a while. I'm gonna burn it."

"Makes sense," Sam said neutrally. He was rapidly losing his battle with sleep, and his eyes decided to drift shut of their own accord. Dean helped him slide down onto the pillow, and being horizontal again pushed Sam deeper into the peaceful darkness.

Sam suddenly felt a hand on his forehead. "I'm so, _so_ sorry, Sammy. I should've known better."

"Not your fault," Sam slurred.

"Yes, it is. I don't want you forgiving me like I took the last cookie, Sam. I-- I _tortured_ you. I almost killed you."

"Almost doesn't count," Sam muttered, sinking deeper toward unconsciousness. "Call a do-over…."

Dean sounded serious, though. "Sam…I'm leaving. I just had to be sure you were okay before I-- Bobby and the others are on their way. They'll take care of you."

"Y'don't have to…." Sam said, words running together. He couldn't let Dean do this. Opening his eyes was next to impossible, but he tried anyway. "Dean--"

"Sam, you can't trust me. I don't know what else they brainwashed into me, and I don't want to hurt you again. I can't. I'm sorry, but I have to leave."

The hand disappeared, and Sam redoubled his efforts to wake up. He couldn't let this happen. "Where--?"

Dean's voice came from across the room now. "I don't know. I think…I think I'm just gonna disappear. It'll be easier for both of us that way."

_No it won't!_ Sam struggled to say it aloud, but he was too busy trying to sit up again. He could hear Dean moving, heading away, toward the door, presumably.

"Dean? Wait."

The movement stopped, and for a moment, it was so quiet that Sam thought he was alone.

"What Sammy?"

The "what" was too much for Sam to manage at that moment, it would take too long, and Sam was out of time. Instead, he settled on three words that he hoped would make his point.

"Please don't go."

There was no sound, and Sam feared that Dean had just kept walking. His useless limbs left him trapped on the bed, so pursuit was impossible. When he heard the door click, he feared the worst.

"Sammy--" Dean began, sounding frustrated and angry and grief-stricken all at once. "How can we ever look at each other without remembering what I did? I don't want to be reminded of that. I don't want _you_ being reminded. How could we get past this? Explain that to me."

Sam finally managed to pull his eyelids open, seeing Dean poised with his hand on the doorknob. He had no bags, no weapons, just himself. He was ready to escape the world permanently, and that was one thing Sam couldn't allow.

How could they get past this? _Pretty simply_, Sam concluded. Once they were past this, maybe the rest would fall into place again. Saying that to Dean, however, wasn't so simple.

"Method acting."

"Method acting?" Dean repeated, frowning at him.

"It's a place to _start_, damn it," Sam sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. "What do you want from me?"

Dean's hand dropped slowly to his side, letting go of the doorknob. He stared at Sam for a few long moments before forming a faint smile of his own. He shook his head.

"God, you're such a pain in my ass."

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_February 20, 2009_

_1:45 PM_

Sam absently rubbed his forehead while he waited for the security gate to rise. A small crease remained where Dean had sliced his skin open to break the binding spell. It was the only remaining physical reminder of his ordeal.

The gate opened at last, admitting the Impala and her passengers. Sam eased the car through the empty parking lot and parked close to the door of the storage facility. It had taken a few weeks for him to recover from the demonic poison, even with the antidote Dean had found for him. Thankfully, the last of the side effects had finally passed, and he was able to move around again.

Dean, on the other hand, seemed to grow worse as Sam got better. He was withdrawn, sullen, and refused to speak to anyone but Sam, whom he treated like fragile glass. His penance, it seemed, was to disconnect himself from everything--but treat Sam like a king. He hadn't even driven the Impala, despite Sam's offer.

Sam stared at their Dad's secret storage building for a long while before looking over at Dean, who was also staring.

"You wanna give me a hand?"

His voice snapped Dean out of whatever trance he'd been in, and his brother looked over at him blankly. "What are we doing here?"

Sam smiled softly and pointed at his brother's shirt, which only made Dean's frown deepen. "I thought you might want your clothes. Those are pretty rank, dude. It's been three weeks."

Dean blinked, not following. "You-- You kept my clothes?"

Sam laughed, not quite knowing why Dean's bewilderment was so amusing. "I kept _everything_, Dean. I just took it out of the trunk."

"Why?"

"I needed the room for more weapons."

Dean shook his head. "No, I mean…_why_?"

Sam's smile dimmed, but didn't fade completely. He didn't like remembering all those months spent alone. He tried not to think about it, most of the time. He'd seen Dean doing the same thing, though he knew his lonely misery couldn't compare to the hellish memories Dean was fighting to get past. The haunted look in Dean's eyes scared him a little, making him wonder if they would ever be able to move on.

But, hope was kind of the point.

"Because I knew…I _prayed_…that you might need it someday."

Dean stared at him for a long time before turning to look out the window. He discreetly wiped a hand across his eyes. Sam ignored it, allowing him his privacy. Dean was more emotionally raw since coming back.

"You really didn't give up on me, did you?"

Sam smiled again, opening the door instead of answering. He called over his shoulder as he stood. "You gonna help me lug all this crap to the car or what? Not your slave…."

He lingered beside the car until he heard the ill-tempered reply.

"I'm coming, bitch. Don't rush me."

Sam's smile turned to a grin as he walked toward the building.

They were _almost_ home.

END


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